


Lost at Sea

by Silbrith



Series: Caffrey Conversation [54]
Category: White Collar (TV 2009)
Genre: Adventure, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-18 21:46:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28874055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silbrith/pseuds/Silbrith
Summary: During a trip to England, Neal makes a potentially life-changing discovery. June 2006.
Series: Caffrey Conversation [54]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/65698
Comments: 8
Kudos: 11





	1. Souvenirs

**Shepton Mallet, Somerset, England. Thursday, June 1, 2006.**

Neal smiled at Sara's enthusiasm as he listened to her discuss reticules with the shopkeeper. She'd spotted a collection of the small Regency purses in the window—ample reason to pay a visit to the antique shop. Sara had been in a Jane Austen mood ever since they toured Bath. The reticules were the height of fashion during Jane's day. If Sara started carrying one, she could launch a new fashion trend.

For the past few days, they'd explored the countryside of South West England. They'd taken a direct flight from Seattle where they'd attended his cousin Angela's wedding. When they arrived at Heathrow, they took off in their rental car for Cornwall.

Sara had studied Arthurian legends in college, and she'd prepared an itinerary of various landmarks associated with the Knights of the Round Table for them to visit. For Neal, it was a chance to explore some of the locations that had inspired Pre-Raphaelite artists. Sara had planned the vacation as a graduation present for him. In mid-May, he'd received his dual masters in art history and visual arts. The diplomas were already framed and hanging in his art niche at White Collar.

They'd left King Arthur behind yesterday and were now working their way back to London. Jane Austen's haunts in Somerset and Hampshire were currently on the agenda. The Regency author had a special significance to both of them going back to the time when they invented the Clueless con to keep their early dates a secret and taken aliases based on actors in Jane Austen movies.

Once they returned to London, they had a special evening planned for Mozzie. For the past week, he'd been a consultant on Scima Workshop's _Doctor Who_ set where the episode featuring his script was being filmed. The lid of secrecy concerning the TV series was so tight, he hadn't given any hints even to Neal of what the script was about. Finally, after all these years, Neal had learned what would cause a man who abhorred restrictions of any kind to adhere to the rules.

While Sara chatted about Regency accessories, Neal checked out two oil paintings in a corner. One was a seascape of inferior quality and the other a small painting of a woman that was so grimy it was hard to tell much about her.

Neal crouched in front of her. Surely a woman of mystery—even a woebegone one—deserved a closer look.

The face was blackened with what appeared to be soot, but a small fragment of delicate coral color begged to be examined. The craquelure was intriguing. As Neal scrutinized her, his breath quickened. He picked up the painting to place it under a light. Was he guilty of wishful thinking? Surely this was a fantasy built on quicksand.

"Neal, do you see anything you'd like?" Sara asked. "I've finally made my selection." Her eyes drifted over the display under the glass counter. "Although I may need two."

 _And I've found the painting of my dreams_. "I thought my aunt might like these paintings for her cottage," he said and called the shopkeeper over. "What can you tell me about them?"

The woman gave them a brief look. "You can have both of them for three hundred pounds. We don't normally sell paintings but they were part of an estate sale. They came bundled with a few pieces of Georgian silver I was much more interested in."

Sara approached the paintings to see what had provoked Neal to buy something for Noelle.

"My aunt loves the stories behind objects," Neal said, careful not to lie. He didn't want his words to come back to bite him. "Do you know anything about the former owner?"

She exhaled and thought for a moment. "She was a local woman. Her name was Miranda Tavendish. Last member of her family as I recall. Died in her eighties, poor soul, with no children to comfort her. The bank sold off her property."

"How sad," Sara said, the corners of her mouth drooping in sympathy. "The paintings aren't very good but we should buy them. Perhaps we can invent a romantic story to go with them. Your aunt would like that."

Neal chuckled. "About a sailor lost at sea and his sweetheart?"

The shopkeeper enjoyed the joke. "That's a clever idea! I should encourage other customers to invent tales about the treasures they buy."

Sara smiled at her. "I'm already thinking of one for my reticule."

"Do you mind if I take a few photos?" Neal asked.

Once the purchases were made, Neal placed the paintings on top of brown wrapping paper on the back seat of the car. Sara watched with bemusement the care he took. "I've waited long enough," she said. "Why are you so interested in those paintings?"

"I'm playing a hunch." He hesitated a moment before voicing his hopes out loud. "I think there's a chance the portrait is a Raphael."

She stared at him a moment, stunned into silence. She then sat on the back seat next to his mystery woman. "What do you see that I'm not?"

Neal leaned through the open door of the car to point out the section of robe that had caught his eye. "This tiny line of gold could be part of a halo. If I'm right this is a Madonna." He shrugged. "If I'm wrong, I'm out a few hundred pounds. I doubt the seascape is anything significant but since it came from the same estate, I decided to purchase it. Possibly it will help on questions of provenance. "

She took a slow breath. "What's your next step?"

"A careful cleaning, but I don't have any supplies." He shrugged. "It's also better if I'm not involved in the appraisal."

Sara eyed him sympathetically. "Because of your reputation?"

He nodded. "That's also why I took the photos. There are a couple of cases where a supposedly lost Raphael was later discovered to be a forgery. I don't want anyone to think that's what I did."

"There aren't very many who know of your expertise."

"True. And I'm not worried about Peter. But Interpol is aware of the forgery I made of the Vermeer painting last summer. They also know about the Da Vinci forgery we used in a sting last December. When Peter and I were here last year, we met with several art officials from the various London museums, including their director of collections at the National Gallery, Olivia Prescott. I plan to give her a call. The National Gallery handled the authentication of a Raphael in the '90s. That work was first considered to be a copy."

"Are they the gold standard for Raphael appraisals?"

"They're certainly one of them, but there were dissenting opinions about the Madonna they authenticated. Even if I'm convinced this is a Raphael, inevitably many will object."

On the way to London, they debated contacting John Hobhouse, the head of the Interpol art crimes task force. Neal hadn't initially planned to call him, and there was no reason to now. Besides, if his hunch was wrong, he'd rather minimize the embarrassment. Just contacting Olivia was enough of a gamble. He'd enjoyed working with her last year. Hopefully, she'd agree to help him.

Neal called her from the road. After teasing him about joining the ranks of would-be fortune seekers who were convinced of treasures in their attics, she was exceptionally cooperative. She offered him the use of their authentication facility where he'd be able to work with one of the members of the conservation team. It was painfully evident that Olivia wouldn't have bet a tuppence on the painting being a lost Raphael. Hearing the skepticism in her voice, Neal's own doubts skyrocketed. But Sara said she could make good use of the time to check in with her office, and they had no plans till they met Mozzie on Saturday afternoon.

Despite Neal's efforts to set minimal expectations, his nerves kicked into overdrive when he took his mystery woman to the National Gallery. Olivia had left a pass for him at the entrance along with instructions for him to be escorted to the workrooms in the basement of the museum.

Edi Rotich, the technician assigned to assist him, gave him the expected joshing but was also intrigued enough to stay around while Neal performed the initial cleaning. Edi was from Kenya and seemed genuinely pleased when Neal addressed him in Swahili. He'd learned the language back in the days when he'd been working for Adler. A friend of Mozzie's who was a gemstone smuggler had taught him the basics.

Neal believed that once the grime was removed, he'd likely be able to tell if there was any chance he'd been correct. And that's where he got his next big break. The surface grime was mainly simple household dirt that could be easily removed with an emulsion cleaner. As Neal and Edi worked on it, other techs began to check on their progress. Slowly Neal's mystery woman was revealing herself to be a Madonna, and a beautiful one at that. But was she a Raphael?

When Neal heard footsteps behind him, he assumed it was another tech. Then he heard Olivia say, "So this is what's causing the commotion. I should have known."

He spun around to see not only her but John Hobhouse as well. "I came here to meet with Olivia on a case," John explained. "Olivia mentioned you were in the workrooms. Do your holidays normally involve hunting for lost masterpieces?"

"They could in the future," Neal acknowledged, his attempt at appearing nonchalant probably fooling no one. "After this experience, I may have caught the bug." He stepped aside so they could view the painting.

The smile from Olivia's face faded as she bent over it. She held the scarf wrapped around her neck with one hand to keep it from brushing the surface of the painting.

"The color of the gown is what caught my eye," Neal said. "Raphael managed to instill a delicate blush to coral that to my knowledge is unique."

"When we started, there were only a couple of small patches that showed the true colors," Edi added, gesturing to the pile of cloths they'd used to wipe the surface.

John slowly shook his head. "You must have the luck of the Irish, Neal. The work is certainly painted in the style of Raphael. Olivia, you may want to authorize a thorough appraisal."

"My thoughts exactly." She turned to Neal. "With your approval, of course."

Neal hesitated. The authentication cost could be staggering. "How much will this set me back?"

"We may be able to work out an exchange," she said cryptically. "I'll explain in my office if you can tear yourself away."

"Go ahead," Edi urged. "This round of cleaning's almost done. I'll make sure she doesn't wander off."

"I'm here in my official capacity," John said once they were behind closed doors. "One of the paintings from an upcoming exhibit was stolen last night. We haven't released the information to the media yet and very few even among the museum personnel know about it."

"Is it from the Turner exhibition?" Neal asked. "I noticed the banners at the front entrance."

Olivia nodded. "It's due to open next month. Several of the paintings are on loan from the Tate, and it's one of those works which was taken—an unfinished piece called _Sunrise with Sea Monsters_."

At Neal's choked-off exclamation, John winced sympathetically. "I told Olivia about the theft of the _Carta Marina_ last April from Harvard. I suggested we consult with you and Peter, and that's when she told me you were currently downstairs in their workshop. The crime has many of the hallmarks of Rolf Mansfeld, and the theme of the painting appears to be tailor-made for one of his taunts."

"Mansfeld and his brother are still in prison I assume?" Olivia asked, directing her gaze at Neal.

"I'm sure I would have been notified if they weren't," he assured her. "Our team has been working on the theory that Rolf has an unknown partner, but hard evidence is still scant. A book on ancient sea maps was found in Ydrus headquarters in Hungary. The same book was found in the home of a member of the Pod, a criminal group who focuses on video game ransomware."

"Is there anything besides the book that ties the Pod to the theft of the _Carta Marina_?" Olivia asked.

"Only circumstantial bits," Neal admitted. "From the onset of our involvement with Rolf, he's seemingly delighted in goading us. His egotism has been his weak spot. It's enabled us to get under his skin, provoking him to be reckless in his desire for recognition. In Rolf's original museum malware, he buried an image of a symbol used by the horror writer H.P. Lovecraft. In the malware used at Harvard, a symbol of an octopus was rendered in ASCII. That could be a link to the Pod, which several of us believe is short for _cephalopod_. Was malware involved in this crime?"

"Quite possibly," she acknowledged. "The painting was being stored off-site while the exhibition hall was being readied. Somehow the security sensors were disabled and the anti-malware circumvented."

"Scotland Yard's tech team is working on it now," John said. "They'll be in contact with White Collar. The anti-malware used by the National Gallery is the one developed by Root32."

The program had been written by Neal's friend Aidan. He'd worked with White Collar's tech expert Travis Miller on it, and the software had been successfully deployed by museums throughout the world. To Neal's knowledge, this was the first time it had failed. "This raises an even thornier issue. Rolf has no access to computers. How could he rewrite code? Some on our team have raised the possibility that the criminal mastermind of the malware isn't Rolf, but his partner. This case could help confirm the theory."

"How long will you be in London?" John asked.

"I'm currently scheduled to return to New York on Sunday," Neal said.

"I'd like you to stay on, if possible. Your expertise on the Mansfelds could prove invaluable."

Olivia smiled. "That also means you'll be able to check in on your mystery Madonna. How could you refuse?"

 _Not to mention the opportunity to spend more time with Sara._ No arm-twisting would be needed on his part, but would Peter sanction it?

Before leaving Olivia's office, John texted Peter, scheduling a conference call in an hour. He wanted Neal present for the call so Neal left the Madonna in Edi's capable hands.

John's office was in New Scotland Yard, a short distance away. In addition to his work on the Interpol task force, John led the U.K.'s Art and Antiques Unit, the equivalent of D.C. Art Crimes at the Bureau.

Neal hadn't contacted Peter yet about his painting, and explaining that was the first priority. John listened with an amused expression as Neal described the discovery. Realistically, at best the painting would be declared an unknown work from the period of Raphael or perhaps a painting from an assistant. But Neal preferred to dream big until circumstances forced a change of plan.

It was also a much more pleasant subject to discuss than the Turner, a point John immediately seized on. "This theft has all the hallmarks of containing a personal message to White Collar from Rolf," he said bluntly. "The work is incomplete. It's valued at much less than the other paintings which were stored in the warehouse. Why else would it alone have been taken?"

"It reminds me of the Vermeer that was targeted in New York in February," Peter agreed. "That also was a lesser work by an old master."

"If our assumption is true that Rolf had commissioned Wilkes to accomplish the theft," Neal said, "the message was never sent since that painting wasn't stolen. Rolf most likely never found out the details about it."

"In that case, it's even easier to believe that he was involved," John said. "His unknown associate could have hired Wilkes to commit the crime. The art was in New York where Rolf knew you'd be called upon to investigate." John turned to Neal. "Could he have heard about your trip to England?"

"It's possible his agents, if he still has any, found my plane reservations," Neal said, "but I wasn't planning to spend much time in London, and since I'm staying with Sara, there's no hotel reservation in my name."

"I doubt there's a personal message to Neal in connection with his trip," Peter agreed. "I'm much more inclined to view this as a boast of Rolf's global reach. He's returning to familiar territory. For years he'd worked at the Scima campus outside London under an assumed identity."

"But I wouldn't discount the possibility of a threat," John argued. "The combination of water and sea monsters in the Turner painting could be intended to evoke the attempt on Peter's life last year."

Last May, Rolf had taken advantage of sets at Scima to place an unconscious Peter inside the TARDIS at the bottom of a large underwater soundstage. When Neal found him, a mask of an Ood, a tentacle-mouthed alien created for _Doctor Who_ , had been slipped over Peter's head.

"And not only that incident, but the death of the agent in Prague in early 2005," Peter pointed out. "The victim had suffocated to death in a swimming pool with a latex octopus glued onto his face."

"Here's another freakish coincidence," Neal said. "The second season of _Doctor Who_ is currently being broadcast in the U.K. Tomorrow night, the first episode featuring the Ood will be shown. The episode is called 'The Impossible Planet.' Sara and I were planning to watch it."

"One coincidence I might take at face value," Peter grumbled, "but not multiple ones."

"I suppose it's theoretically possible that Rolf intended to suggest that this crime was also impossible," John mused. "He knew that all the evidence would point to him, but since he's sitting in prison, he couldn't have committed it. Still tying the theft to the episode seems like quite a stretch."

"The ties to Lovecraft are too strong to be ignored," Peter argued. "The Ood resemble Cthulhu, Lovecraft's chief deity. The tentacles on their mouths could also reference the zoog, a tentacle-snouted rodent invented by Lovecraft and used in Arkham Files."

"I wonder who invented the name Ood," Neal mused. "The similarity between it and _zoog_ is too close to be ignored."

"I'll find out," John promised, jotting a note on a pad of paper.

Agents continued to comb the warehouse, hoping to find hard evidence. But until then, they could only speculate. On the positive side, Peter had agreed for Neal to stay on for a few extra days. Scotland Yard, the location of John's office, was close to the Portrait Gallery. While Sara was at work, Neal would alternate between the two locations.

Neal wouldn't have placed high odds on being able to provide much help to the investigation. But that situation changed an hour later. A business card was found near the crate where the Turner had been stored. The card was printed with an image of the TARDIS and the words "Property of the Doctor."

#

"Do you feel like we're caught up in a déjà vu situation?" Peter asked Tricia. After Neal's call, he'd rounded up Jones, Diana, Travis, and Tricia Wiese, their Mansfeld profiler, for a briefing.

Peter's question wasn't an attempt at humor and Tricia treated it equally seriously. "We discovered later that Rolf, disguised as Chapman, had deliberately lured you onto the _Doctor Who_ set. He'd had an associate make a painting resembling one Neal had painted earlier in the year for a contest at a sci-fi convention. Rolf was a judge at the event. He spoke with both Neal and you. The elaborate measures he took to draw you to the Scima campus indicate the very long timelines he operates on. In comparison, this linkage was much more easily obtained, but it also could have been planned months in advance—even before Rolf was captured in Hungary. A simple code word spoken to his lawyer could have set the scheme into motion."

Diana exhaled impatiently, her eyes flashing fire. "Rolf is no better than a five-year-old showoff. What does he possibly hope to gain by the display? Sure, the Turner might bring in a couple of million on the black market, but is he simply doing this to thumb his nose at us? All it will get him is solitary confinement."

"That's certainly how it appears on the surface," Tricia agreed calmly, "but look at it from a different angle. We were never able to prosecute Rolf for Peter's abduction in England because the DNA evidence wasn't allowed."

"And not only the abduction," Jones pointed out. "Rolf was never accused of the murder of the real Alistair Chapman or for identity theft. The records from the plastic surgeon weren't admissible since they'd been obtained"—he hesitated for a moment, appearing to evaluate the appropriate term—"in an irregular manner."

Travis took a slow breath but kept quiet. Only his tight lips indicated his unease. Peter sympathized with him. Travis and Neal's friend Aidan had succeeded in hacking into the surgeon's records when local authorities denied access. Their efforts had enabled them to establish that Rolf had faked his death and was impersonating Chapman but he wasn't able to be tried for the crimes since the evidence had been illegally obtained.

"Rolf insisted he'd been framed," Tricia said, "and his lawyer was able to make a convincing argument. Since Rolf hadn't received financial compensation, the act of faking his death wasn't considered a crime."

Rolf's lawyers had argued that the stress of his research had led their client to suffer from bipolar disorder, and the expert witness testimony provided by psychologists supported the claim. The defense team made a compelling case with the result that the final sentence was lighter than the prosecution had sought.

"It's not just the Scima incident," Peter said. "None of the stolen paintings could be tied directly to Rolf. His lawyers argued that Anya had run the entire show and that she'd taken advantage of his psychosis. And that brings us to this latest incident. Look at it from the viewpoint of someone who doesn't know Rolf as we do. This crime has all the hallmarks of the criminal we called Azathoth. The personal taunts, the connection to horror and Lovecraft. The sea monsters in Turner's painting could be a reference to Cthulhu."

"Even the Doctor Who allusions could reference Lovecraft," Travis said, steepling his fingers in front of his face. "The Ood look similar to Lovecraft's drawing of Cthulhu."

"You realize where this is leading," Peter said, cutting to the chase. "Rolf isn't Azathoth, after all. That hypothetical observer could claim we got the wrong guy and the real Azathoth is still on the loose."

Diana sagged into the chair, her frustration mirrored in the expressions of the others.

"Personally, I'm convinced we were right," Tricia said. "Rolf is Azathoth, but we already know the man is a genius at psychological manipulation. It's not unreasonable to believe that Rolf created himself an escape hatch, perhaps as far back as a year ago. He designed the strategy, left it with his silent partner, the person we're calling Cthulhu, with instructions on when to set it in motion."

Jones exhaled. "So now Rolf's lawyers can use this new crime as evidence of a frame."

Diana rolled her eyes. "Rolf, the innocent victim?"

"It could get even worse," Tricia warned. "What if Rolf's lawyers argue that the real Azathoth manipulated Rolf to kidnap Neal? It's indisputable that Anya relied upon Doctor Penfold. Did the doctor use a procedure on Rolf to make him commit the crimes? The defense could call for a new trial."

"And this latest crime will only bolster their argument," Peter agreed reluctantly. "Hell, it even makes me think about reviewing the case. Penfold might be able to shed some light on what really happened . . . if we could find him."

Penfold had only served a couple of months of prison. At his trial in Hungary, his lawyers were able to convince the jury that he was engaged in legitimate medical research and had no ties to the weapons trade and art crimes Anya's organization engaged in. As a result, Penfold was placed in a minimum-security facility. He escaped two months ago.

Was the present crime simply an effort to exonerate Rolf? How much risk was Neal in by being in London? He was bound to want to visit the _Doctor Who_ set. If an attempt was made on his life, it could be used as further evidence that the criminal dubbed Azathoth wasn't Rolf. Neal already knew to be careful. Should Peter order him home? If he did, would Neal find a sneaky way to stay in London?

#

"Are you sure John doesn't need a second undercover agent?" Sara asked, restraining her frustrated sigh to a tiny puff. "Doesn't he realize we're a team? The Doctor needs Rose with him." She appreciated that Neal called her at work to relay the news. By the time they saw each other, perhaps she could think of a way to make her presence vital.

"I reminded John of how well we'd worked together. He promised to keep it in mind."

Sara slouched back into her desk chair. She should be content that Neal able to prolong his stay in London. It didn't sound like she'd be seeing much of him, though. Last year, Neal's resemblance to David Tennant had allowed him to go undercover as a stunt double on the set. John could want to take advantage of the resemblance again. The card was such a tenuous clue, it was difficult to believe there could be any tie to _Doctor Who_. But the coincidence of the timing of the Ood episode with the theft was too startling to be ignored.

Once the security program was analyzed, they'd be in better shape to determine if it had the hallmarks of Rolf and his phantom partner Cthulhu or if the theft had been masterminded by some rabid fan as a stunt.

Normally, she wouldn't even be privy to details of the case, but when there a possibility of Mansfeld involvement, the rule book was torn up. She hadn't heard of a Turner painting containing sea monsters, but had looked it up on the Internet. The work was in shades of yellow and gray and at first glance appeared to be a hazy seascape with no recognizable features. Some pink and red turbulent swirls were evocative of something, but what? Fish, sea monsters, a ship? The title had been bestowed upon the work after Turner's death, and he'd left no clues about his vision. Neal preferred the sea monster hypothesis because another Turner work, _The Slave Ship_ , also had sea monsters, and they were depicted somewhat similarly but weren't as amorphous.

" _The Slave Ship_ is at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston," Neal added. "Peter said he'd alert them that an attempt may be made on it. They'll also keep an eye out for any TARDIS business cards."

"What does John think of the possibility that the card is a reference to the cards Klaus left behind after a theft?"

"It's yet another bit of circumstantial evidence," he agreed. "John's meeting with the producers tomorrow, and I plan to nose around Scima on Monday. The theft will continue to be kept confidential for at least a week. If Rolf is hoping for publicity, he won't get any."

"Does John know about Mozzie?"

Neal hesitated for a moment before answering. "I decided not to mention him. The only time John has seen him was in Hungary when Mozzie was using a different alias. I want to ask Mozzie about it, though. He may have noticed something on the set, but I imagine he'd prefer to stay far away from any involvement with Scotland Yard."

Sara agreed. Most likely, Mozzie wouldn't be able to contribute much, and she didn't want to do anything which would take away from what must have been a triumphant week on the _Doctor Who_ set. By now Mozzie would be thoroughly immersed in his scriptwriter persona, Walter Ellis. She'd been touched beyond words when he asked if he could use her surname. Together they'd worked up a biography for her new relative.

"We'll have plenty of time to discuss it with Mozzie when he arrives tomorrow afternoon," Neal said.

"Where does he think we're staying?"

Neal chuckled. "I told him we were planning to watch 'The Impossible Planet' at your place and then would play _Clue_. I offered him the use of your couch and he accepted it with alacrity."

Sara's mood lifted. Little did Mozzie know what was in store for him.

* * *

_Notes:_ _Thanks for reading! Lost at Sea has 4 chapters which I'll post weekly on Wednesday.[A lost Raphael painting which was discovered in Scotland in 2016](https://www.huffpost.com/entry/raphael-painting-masterpiece_n_57f250e7e4b082aad9bbf2d9?section=) was the inspiration for this story. "The Impossible Planet," one of my favorite Doctor Who episodes, was televised in the UK on June 3, 2006. I was thrilled to use the same date in my story. The account of Peter's abduction on the Doctor Who set is in Echoes of a Violin. _

_Story Visuals and Music: The Lost at Sea board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website:[pinterest.com/caffreycon](http://www.pinterest.com/caffreycon)_  
_Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation: [pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com](http://www.pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com)_  
_Twitter:[@silbrith](https://twitter.com/silbrith)_

_**Background on the Caffrey Conversation AU for new readers** : The series was created by Penna Nomen and begins with her story Caffrey Conversation. Our blog has a list and short summaries for all the stories in chronological order. The primary difference from canon is that Neal was never sent to prison and the characters are several years younger. The personalities of canon characters (Elizabeth, Mozzie, Diana, Jones, Hughes, June, and Sara) are the same. _

_Peter recruited Neal in 2003 when he was 24. In the fall of 2004, he entered Columbia University's graduate program in art as a part-time student. In the spring of 2005, Peter and Neal were appointed to the Interpol art crimes task force. The work on the task force is part-time and places additional emphasis on art crimes for the White Collar team. In canon, Neal's only relatives to be mentioned are his father and mother. In ours, his mother Meredith has a twin sister named Noelle who is a psychologist. Noelle married Peter's older brother Joe during the 2004 Christmas holidays. Henry Winslow is Noelle's son and nearly three years older than Neal. He works at a private investigation and security company named Winston-Winslow (usually referred to as Win-Win). Neal has one other cousin, Angela, who is the daughter of Noelle and Meredith's deceased brother. Working with the White Collar team are two non-canon characters: Travis Miller, a technical expert, and Tricia Wiese, a profiler._


	2. Fall Guy

**Paddington Station, London. Saturday, June 3, 2006**

Sara scanned the train tracks eagerly. "The train should arrive any minute."

Neal smiled at her enthusiasm. "I can't wait to see Mozzie's face." After a morning of shopping, they'd arrived at Paddington Station with plenty of time to spare. He didn't have many purchases to show for the outing since their plans for Saturday night plus the paintings he'd purchased had put a dent in his cash reserves.

Neal tried not to think about what life would be like if his mystery Madonna turned out to be authentic. The news so far was encouraging. Late yesterday afternoon, Edi had determined that the initial drawing had been done in silverpoint, an encouraging sign. Raphael was known for using the technique, but he was by no means the only Renaissance artist to employ silverpoint.

"I see the train coming!" Sara exclaimed, breaking into his thoughts. "You're sure he'll be on it?"

"Absolutely. I told him you'd arranged for a tour of the Gherkin on the way back to your flat. He promised me he wouldn't miss the train." Sterling-Bosch rented floors in the towering skyscraper in the financial district. Neal was looking forward to the tour as well. Sara's tiny furnished flat was in nearby Cornhill.

She frowned. "I'm not so confident. He'd earmarked the morning to work on a new script for _Doctor Who_." She bit her lower lip. "He could have been so distracted that he lost track of time."

"Nothing will interfere with our surprise," Neal said firmly.

Sara tugged on his arm to move closer to the platform. As soon as the doors opened, she began scanning faces.

"You don't have to worry about him noticing us," Neal pointed out. "Not with the balloon you're holding."

She took a breath. "I hope he likes it."

"He'll love it. Are you this nervous before all surprise parties?"

"This is the first one I've ever given," she confided. "I have a new appreciation for the stress involved with El's job . . . and there he is!"

Mozzie stopped in his tracks, flummoxed speechless for a moment. "Happy Birthday? Whose birthday?"

Sara's foil balloon was emblazoned with a space alien extending greetings. "Yours, of course!" she said, giving him a kiss.

He snickered. "I appreciate the gesture, but this isn't my birthday."

"Close enough," she said stubbornly. "You've adopted my last name. You're my uncle, and I've decided this is your day."

"Confess, Mozz, when was the last time you celebrated your birthday?" Neal asked.

"I can't remember," he said. "Probably at the orphanage."

Sara took his arm. "Then it's way past time, Uncle Water. You're family now." This was just as important for Sara as it was for Mozzie. Aside from her father whom she hadn't seen for over a decade, Sara's only living relative was an aunt in Baltimore.

"When Neal said he didn't know when you were born, I picked today," she continued. "I think Allen would like sharing his with you."

Mozzie's brow furrowed as he thought for a moment. He snapped his fingers. "Allen Ginsberg, of course! He would have been eighty years old today. Shall we make him an honorary member of our growing family?"

"He'd love the idea, I'm sure!"

Neal picked up Mozzie's bag. "And don't think that you're going to sleep on the couch tonight. None of us will."

Sara linked arms with her adopted uncle. "We have reservations at Brown's. We were able to reserve the Arthur Conan Doyle Suite." The hotel, a Mayfair institution since the 1830s, had been a favorite of many writers. In addition to Doyle, the hotel guest list often included Agatha Christie, Robert Louis Stevenson, and Bram Stoker.

Mozzie's eyes widened. "Tell me you were able to get a discount."

Neal nodded. "A friend of a friend helped, but don't think about the cost. After the magnificent New Year's Eve party you planned for us, we wanted to do something special."

#

Their two-bedroom suite was furnished with Victorian antiques reminiscent of Sherlock's lodgings on Baker Street. Neal kicked off the festivities by ordering a bottle of champagne for them to drink in the parlor. There, in the privacy afforded by their suite, he at last told him about his mystery woman.

Mozzie's reaction was predictable. "I gladly volunteer my services as your agent," he said gleefully. "The producers have already asked me to stay around for a few more days to discuss scripts."

"Unless the painting is determined to be by a lesser artist, the authentication process could take months," Neal warned.

"Have they tested the paint pigments?" Mozzie asked.

"That will be next week's challenge." Neal turned to Sara. "The presence of bismuth, for instance, would prove conclusively that the painting is from the era of Raphael, but it might have been painted by another artist of the period or someone in his workshop."

"I wish I could help with the provenance," Mozzie said, stroking his chin as he settled back into a maroon leather wingback chair.

"I've been thinking about that," Sara said. "What if the painting had been plundered during the English Civil War?"

Mozzie nodded slowly. "An intriguing thought. Continue."

"The area around Bath was a Royalist stronghold. Many of the great houses in the area were besieged and looted. A soldier could have carried off the painting. It would have been passed down through the generations, getting grimier every year. Eventually it was one of those forgotten items stored in the attic that no one bothers to get rid of."

"If it is a genuine Raphael, that's a reasonable sequence of events," Neal agreed. "Historians may be able to find a paper trail."

Mozzie helped himself to more champagne. "The English Civil War would be an excellent subject for a _Doctor Who_ plot."

"Wasn't there an episode about it back in the '80s?" Sara asked.

Mozzie nodded appreciatively. "A fellow connoisseur! I've made a study of all the past episodes as part of my research. The episode featured an alien war machine called the Malus. It may need to be reawakened."

"Speaking of reawakening, Cthulhu could also be rising from the ocean." Neal explained the events surrounding the stolen Turner painting.

"Fascinating," Mozzie murmured. "I wonder how much of a role the Ood played. The producers mentioned I should consider a script featuring the species. They believe the episode being shown tonight will be a popular one, perhaps even a classic. Not of course that it can compare to my script."

"Isn't it time you told us about it?" Sara wheedled. "Please, Uncle Walt?"

He snickered. "How can I resist my favorite niece!" He leaned forward conspiratorially as if paparazzi were hiding in the walls. "The story is centered around Dante. It's a little known fact that the _Divine Comedy_ is based on an experience the poet had with hostile space aliens. Trust me, the nine circles of Hell will acquire a new significance after you've seen my creation."

Sara exchanged a smile with Neal. "Before you go into the details, you need to be properly attired."

"What's wrong with what I have on?" he asked, glancing down at his paisley shirt and olive-green corduroy jacket.

"Nothing," she said, "but you're not wearing your present."

Mozzie's eyes widened behind his glasses. "You got me something else?"

"Of course, we did," Neal said. "You can't have a birthday party without presents." He went into the bedroom and returned with a large box wrapped in sci-fi gift wrap. "This is from both of us."

From the way Mozzie tore into the package, you would have thought he'd never received a birthday gift before. It was an unsettling thought that any such gifts had been few and far between. Neal was more than ever grateful to Sara for suggesting the celebration.

Mozzie beamed as he pulled out the Donegal tweed vest Sara had located at a specialty shop.

"This writing vest is guaranteed to bring you good luck in your scripts," she said. "We took it with us to Cornwall where it was blessed by Merlin's spirit in his cave below Tintagel Castle. The wizard only made one stipulation. You'll need to write a script featuring him for _Doctor Who_."

"You may think Sara's joking but I can attest to what happened," Neal added. "Well, maybe not the spirit part. Only Sara spoke with him."

"I can sense his aura," Mozzie said, readily going along with the fantasy. "With Merlin as an actual ghostwriter, I sense a BAFTA award in our future."

The buzzing of Neal's cell phone was an unwelcome intrusion. When he saw John's name on the display, he excused himself to take the call in his bedroom.

"That link to _Doctor Who_ just became stronger," John said. "During my discussion with the producers, I asked them about the Ood. The man who'd invented them was none other than Alistair Chapman, aka Rolf Mansfeld."

Neal dropped onto the bed in disbelief. "I remember Peter and I discussed the Ood with Chapman when we visited his office. That was a few hours before Peter was abducted. Chapman brought them up but he didn't mention he'd created them."

"And none of us thought to ask," John said. "The idea was first discussed during a brainstorming session among the creative directors. There's no paper trail but I interviewed two of the directors who attended the meeting. As for the business card of the TARDIS, it's not an item produced by Scima."

White Collar's theory that the events were tied to the earlier incident looked stronger than ever, but the answers to their questions only became murkier. The first appearance of an Ood-type mask had been at the house where Neal and Peter were held prisoner in New Jersey. That was close to two years ago. They'd assumed all along that Rolf was behind the kidnapping. Could it have been Klaus or the silent partner instead? By staging the theft of the Turner, was Rolf attempting to make it appear that he'd been framed? His lawyer would argue that it would have been impossible for Rolf to commit the crime from prison even though Rolf could have set the wheels in motion long ago and was now sitting back while the silent partner carried out his instructions.

Was Klaus up to his neck in the crime or being kept unaware? It was tempting to compare the Doctor's business card with the Leopard cards Klaus used to leave behind. Or was this another instance of Rolf churning up the seas?

#

When Neal related John's discovery, Sara had the distinct impression that Mozzie was treating the crime's connection to the Ood as another birthday gift. They had dinner in the restaurant associated with the hotel. The leather booths separated by antique paneling appeared tailor-made for story plotting. Mozzie darted from ideas for _Doctor Who_ to speculation over how to incorporate the Ood into Arkham Files. By the time they returned to their suite to watch the _Doctor Who_ episode on TV, the layers of meaning the Ood had acquired rivaled any Sherlock Holmes whodunit.

Sara knew that Mozzie only slept a few hours at night. She'd assumed he would enjoy watching movies for further inspiration and had planned accordingly, but choosing appropriate movies had turned into a treasure hunt of sorts.

Neal had nixed _Tiles of Fire_ , a series of movies Mozzie often mentioned which featured the Chinese game of pai gow. Instead, he suggested an assortment of Godzilla movies. Neal, along with Richard and Keiko, had outlined designs for a pairing of their bee superhero with the Japanese classic monster during a trip to Boston. For pure fantasy, it was hard to beat, so Sara had scrounged for _Mothra vs. Godzilla_ , _Godzilla vs. SpaceGodzilla_ , and other classics. Most of them were in Japanese. Not a problem for Neal and Mozzie who both spoke the language fluently, but Sara's knowledge was much more limited.

Frankly, she would have preferred a retrospective of Jane Austen movies, but she wasn't the birthday girl. Even so, she managed to insert a suggestion for a _Doctor Who_ script featuring the Regency author and had great hopes that for Mozzie's next birthday she could request historical attire.

By the time they retired to their bedroom, it was well past midnight. Mozzie was so engrossed in the movie, he barely acknowledged their departure. This would be Sara's last chance to sleep in since she'd return to work on Monday. But first, she and Neal took full advantage of their luxurious room.

She didn't wake till mid-morning. The sky was an overcast gray outside. Neal was still asleep. From the other bedroom came the faint sounds of screams, signaling that Mozzie was awake and watching one of the movies. Sara closed her eyes. Neal had slung his arm over her waist. She pressed her back closer to his chest. She could easily stay like this all day.

She was just nodding off when his cell phone buzzed. She sat up to reach over for it. If it was no one important, she'd mute it. But the sound had awakened Neal and he flung out an arm, inadvertently smacking her hand.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "What time is it?"

She glanced at the bedside clock. "Nine thirty."

"Then I better take it." His words were slurred. He sounded like he was still asleep, but when he looked at the phone, his eyes popped open. "It's John," he told her and placed it to his ear.

It was difficult to hear much from the conversation. Neal was restricted to a few murmurs of agreement, but his closing remark of "I'll be right over" left no doubt about the subject. When he ended the call, he told her, "I've got to go in. There's been a break in the case."

"What happened?"

"John wanted to tell me in person. I hope it won't take long." He rubbed his forehead and yawned. "I'll grab some coffee on the way out."

"I wish you could sleep in."

"Me too." He stood up and headed for the bathroom. Sara followed him in, not liking the worried look on his face.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, it's . . ." He stopped himself and winced. "Remind me not to watch horror movies late at night."

"I hope you didn't have nightmares about sea monsters."

He shot her a sharp look. "Did I say something in my sleep?"

"No, it was just a guess from those paintings. Neal, is something wrong?"

"We'll talk when I get back," he promised, splashing water on his face.

#

On his way out of the suite, Neal waved at Mozzie through the open door. The birthday boy was too engrossed in a Godzilla movie to acknowledge it. That was for the best. If Mozzie had asked him where he was going, Neal wouldn't have known how to respond. John had urged him to not talk with anyone before meeting with him.

Glugging the steaming hot coffee he'd picked up in the coffee bar on the way out of the hotel, Neal tried to erase the scenes still playing out in his mind from the nightmare. Giant squids squeezing the life out of everyone he loved were a horror movie he had absolutely no desire to revisit. The monsters were nothing like the sympathetic Ood. And, okay, he probably had watched too many Godzilla movies, but he thought he'd developed cozy relations with cephalopods.

Was the Turner painting to blame? The sea monsters were so diffuse in the work that many didn't think that's what they were. It was frustrating to admit he was having the opposite problem— inventing monsters that didn't exist.

He'd gotten a bad start to the morning when the phone call woke him up, and now he felt out of sync—like he'd awakened from one nightmare only to tumble into another one. When the hotel doorman hailed a taxi for Neal, he half-expected to see an Ood driving it.

What was John so concerned about that he'd warned Neal not to talk to anyone? Neal had left his contact information with him on Friday. He hadn't mentioned Mozzie, but simply said he and Sara were treating themselves to a night at Brown's. Surely Sara wasn't involved, but nothing about this was normal. John didn't work weekends at Scotland Yard, especially not on a Sunday morning. The previous afternoon he'd called from his townhouse.

On Friday, John had given Neal a temporary badge which was valid for a week. When Neal arrived at Scotland Yard, he headed straight for John's office on the fifteenth floor. The Art and Antiques Unit had a small cluster of offices within the Metropolitan Police's equivalent to White Collar—the Economic and Specialist Crime Command. Only a couple of officers were working in the open area. John was alone in his office.

"Thank you for coming in," John said. Despite it being Sunday, he was wearing a suit and tie. Neal was glad he was also in a suit. "Please take a seat." He gestured to a chair next to his desk. His computer monitor had been swiveled so that Neal would be able to see it, leading him to suspect new evidence had surfaced. "As I mentioned to you on the phone, I received an anonymous tip early this morning."

Neal nodded. John hadn't revealed any details but said the news was urgent. The seriousness of his demeanor confirmed it.

"The tip was a copy of surveillance camera footage. The email message claimed that it was taken on Friday night and shows the thief who stole the Turner painting. The feed is from a warehouse in Iver Heath, not far from Scima Workshop. Agents are presently at the location, searching the storage cube."

"Was the image of the thief identifiable?" Neal asked, his instincts already blaring a warning. Evidence sent in anonymously could be a frame attempt. If so, on whom?

"I'd rather you see for yourself," John answered cryptically, and started the tape as Neal's stomach gave an unsettled lurch. Instinctively, he knew he wasn't going to like it.

The camera captured a brightly lit modern storage interior with a line of numbered modules along one wall. The timestamp indicated that the feed had been recorded on Friday at 2:15 in the morning. Two figures approached, wearing jeans and hoodies. Their faces weren't visible. They were carrying a crate stamped with the Tate logo. The storage module they approached was near the end of the field of view of the camera. They set the crate on the floor next to the door, and the shorter of the two reached a hand into the pocket of their hoodie.

"Are those tentacles?" Neal asked incredulously, squinting at worm-like appendages protruding from the hoodies.

"I'll zoom in." When John adjusted the view Neal could see they were wearing masks of the Ood similar to the one that had been placed on Peter when he was dumped into the TARDIS. The feed didn't have audio, but the figures appeared to be arguing. The shorter thief crossed their arms in front of their chest. A shoving match quickly ensued. Their hoodies fell back during the altercation, and the taller, skinnier fellow ripped off the Ood mask of the other and stalked off.

Neal gazed at the monitor in shock. The shorter thief looked exactly like Mozzie. The doppelganger scowled at the retreating figure and retrieved his mask, slipping it over his head. He didn't have glasses, but Mozzie sometimes used contacts when he was in disguise. Mozzie opened the door and shoved the crate into the module, closing the door behind him. Neal waited impatiently to see what happened next. "Is there more to the feed?" he asked.

"Yes. For now, hold off on your comments."

Neal kept his eyes glued to the monitor. A minute later, the taller figure could be seen close to the camera. He'd brought a short ladder and used it to climb next to the camera. Neal could see the Ood mask only inches from the camera then the screen went blank.

"The clear assumption is that this was a falling out among thieves," John said. "The taller thief stole the camera and sent us the feed as payback. I recognized the shorter person and you must have as well."

Neal nodded. "He called himself Leonard Urskwith when you met him at the Ydrus fortress." Mozzie had adopted the persona of an ornithologist when he and Sara had flown to Hungary to help rescue Neal from his captors. "He's an FBI informant, and one of my best friends. He couldn't have committed the crime. This is clearly an attempt to frame him."

"It's premature to leap to any conclusions," John warned. "How long have you known him?"

"For over three years."

"That's longer than the length of time you've worked at the Bureau."

Neal nodded. He was the reason Mozzie had been helping on cases but how much could he divulge to John? The man was aware Neal had been a thief but he knew nothing about Mozzie, not even his nickname.

"Do you know if Leonard is currently in England?" John asked.

For a moment, Neal considered concealing his information. Mozzie prized his anonymity above all else, but if Neal held back, John would still be able to uncover the truth. Inevitably he'd show Mozzie's photo to the _Doctor Who_ producers. Mozzie's only chance was for Neal to be upfront, even if his friend did view it as a betrayal.

"Call him Mozzie," Neal said. "That's his nickname and the name he goes by with all his friends. He's staying with Sara and me at our suite at Brown's. Mozzie entered the country under an alias. He wrote a script for _Doctor Who_ which was filmed last week. His pen name is Walter Ellis."

John raised his eyebrows. "As in Sara Ellis?"

Neal nodded, clearing his throat. "Sara is as fond of him as I am. She considers him her honorary uncle."

"I'm sorry, Neal, but you know I have to bring him in for questioning." John's cell buzzed and he stopped to answer it. Neal could only hear one side of the conversation and waited impatiently for the call to end.

"The Turner painting was in the module as expected," John reported after he rang off. "It was the only item in the container. I have no choice but to arrest Mozzie for the crime." He raised a hand to stop Neal's protest. "If this is a frame, he'll be much safer in a holding facility."

"There has to be another way," Neal pleaded. "Could the processing be delayed? How about if he was held in a safe house instead? Mozzie's contacts and insider information have been invaluable to the Bureau. If he's exposed, his usefulness will be severely limited. I bet that's what Rolf wants. He must be behind the frame. He's taking his revenge on those who facilitated his capture."

John didn't try to interrupt but his expression didn't change one iota. "You're asking me to conceal a crime."

"No, I'm not. Simply delay the announcement." Neal scrambled to find a way to persuade him. "We've done it before. When Vermeer's painting of the astronomer was stolen last summer, we delayed releasing the information in order to expose the Mansfelds, and the technique worked. That time I was being framed. This is the same sort of scheme. If you bring Mozzie in, you'll be playing into the enemy's hands."

John frowned as he rubbed the back of his neck.

"You took a gamble on me," Neal continued, sensing a wavering. "That worked out. I'm asking you to do the same now for Mozzie."

"It's too early to call Peter," John said, "but I want to hear his opinion. In the meantime, I'll agree to hold off for at least a few hours, but Mozzie will have to be monitored. For the moment, he'll be treated as a witness and won't be processed. He'll be held in one of our secure locations, but I warn you that at the most he can only be held in limbo for a few days."

#

Mozzie crossed his arms defiantly. "I won't go."

"This is your best chance," Neal argued. "John's agreed to not tell the _Doctor Who_ producers about you. He's not entering you into the Metropolitan Police's database. John's climbed so far out on a limb, the branch could easily break. Don't take a chainsaw to it. You'll injure yourself and him."

Neal had returned to the hotel with two police officers in tow. They were waiting outside the suite to escort Mozzie to the safe house, but convincing him to leave with them was as difficult as Neal had anticipated. An even more arduous task would be to persuade him to not escape confinement.

"Neal's right," Sara said, sitting down on the couch next to Mozzie. "John's giving you a chance to keep your secrets. If you resist, or worse, escape, we won't be able to help you. This is one time you'll have to let us do the work. You know that as soon as the team in New York hears about the frame, they'll also help. So far, no one except John and Neal has seen the feed. You haven't been exposed."

"But that will quickly change, if you don't go along," Neal continued relentlessly. "Don't play into Rolf's hands."

"And Cthulhu's," Mozzie added absently. "Is Cthulhu in London right now, stalking our every move?" He stroked his chin, gazing off into space.

"Consider this an opportunity to analyze the problem," Neal said. "You'll have the freedom to conduct thought experiments just like Einstein."

"Or you can work on your scripts," Sara said, building on his idea. "You could consider it a writing retreat. The producers wanted you to stay on. You could tell them you came down with a stomach bug and will work remotely for a few days."

"I'll need to have special food," he warned. "They better not try to foist ordinary claret on me."

"I'm sure we can make appropriate arrangements," Neal said in his most soothing voice while calculating how much balance was left on his credit card. "Just promise me, you won't run."

Mozzie hesitated, his expression still filled with storm clouds.

"Please listen to Neal," Sara pleaded. "If you escape, your days of being a shadow-lurker will be over."

* * *

_Notes: Will Mozzie behave? Just how dire is his situation? The answers are coming in Chapter 3: Exposed. A few notes about this chapter: Brown's Hotel is real, but I invented the Sherlock Holmes suite. The Doctor Who episode about the English Civil War is called "The Awakening" and featured the fifth doctor._


	3. Exposed

**Federal Building. June 5, 2006. Monday morning.**

"Three days aren't enough time," Diana argued. "Boss, are you sure Hobhouse won't agree to an extension?"

"We're lucky to have this much," Peter replied. "It was only with the greatest reluctance that John agreed to not immediately process Mozzie." That Sunday morning conversation still rang uncomfortably in Peter's ears. Having to defend someone who lived off forged identities and performed illegal jobs for Gordon Taylor and no telling how many other criminals brought Peter smack up to the blurred lines his team had been straddling for the past two-and-a-half years. In their eyes, Mozzie's assistance was worth it, but John could easily disagree.

Peter had spoken with Tricia after the phone call from London and asked her to attend the morning briefing along with Jones, Travis, and Diana. Hughes had sanctioned their devoting resources on the case up to a certain point. That three-day deadline wasn't only hanging over Mozzie's head.

"Doesn't he realize what an asset Mozzie has been to the Mansfeld cases?" Diana persisted.

"You're used to thinking in the point of view of different characters," Tricia reminded her. "Consider how John could regard Mozzie's actions over the past few years. That's what I did yesterday, and my conclusion was that John could make a compelling case for Mozzie being Azathoth's secret partner."

Diana's mouth dropped, stunned into silence, and she wasn't alone. Tricia's words shocked everyone.

"When Tricia called me to explain her hypothesis, my reaction was the same," Peter said. "But upon reviewing the timeline, I realized how credible it appeared."

"Let me be clear," Tricia added. "This is not what I believe, but there's an excellent chance this is what Rolf wants us to think. Remember, he's continuing to play the innocent victim. With Mozzie, he may believe he's found the perfect scapegoat."

"Neal first met Mozzie in 2003," Peter said. He'd already outlined Rolf's defense strategy in his mind, and the team needed to understand what they were up against. "That was in New York, shortly after Neal quit Klaus's crew. A coincidence that their paths crossed? What if Klaus had hired Mozzie to be a silent partner and ordered him to seek Neal out?"

"And Rolf wasn't even involved?" Travis asked incredulously.

"In his desire to be released from prison, Rolf wouldn't hesitate to cast doubts on his brother," Tricia said. "Building up a case against Mozzie may be enough to secure a new trial. Whether or not there's enough evidence to convict is irrelevant at this point."

"So what you're saying is that Mozzie has been a mole all this time?" Jones said, appearing to give the nightmare scenario careful consideration. His objectivity was welcome.

Peter nodded. "Mozzie was the one who solved the Galileo puzzle that provided the first clues about our adversary. It was so abstruse I didn't think anyone could unravel it. Maybe Mozzie could because he had insider knowledge. He could have crafted the puzzle himself."

"But there's a flaw in the argument," Travis objected. "Klaus doesn't have computer expertise, and Mozzie's programming skills aren't up to the level of sophistication that was used in the malware."

"True," Peter said, "but Jacek Kolar has the ability. When Neal met him and his wife Marta, they worked for Klaus. We assumed later they also worked for Rolf, but there's only circumstantial evidence to link them."

Jones nodded slowly. "Mozzie could have hired them instead, letting Klaus be his frontman."

"Mozzie could have devised the connection to Lovecraft," Diana mused, a frown on her face. "He was the one who identified the symbol hidden in the security system malware as Lovecraft's glowing branch. Mozzie named the mastermind Azathoth, but that could have been a reference to himself. He was also the one who first suggested Azathoth had a secret partner."

"And dubbed him Cthulhu," Tricia said. "We all know how brilliant Mozzie is. Wouldn't it be just like him to boast of his expertise by splitting himself in two and inventing a fictitious partner?"

Jones grimaced. "Mozzie is both Azathoth and Cthulhu? I hate to admit it, but the theory has strong circumstantial evidence to back it up. That would explain why Mozzie was able to decipher the coded messages Diana was receiving to her stories."

Peter nodded. "And why the messages continue even though Rolf sits in a cell with no computer access. Mozzie also directed our attention to the book of ancient sea maps in Rolf's library in Hungary. Is it any wonder John is suspicious?"

Diana scowled. "But if Mozzie is the silent partner, Rolf wouldn't want to reveal him."

"He might if he's trying to make Mozzie and Klaus scapegoats," Tricia argued. "Rolf's ego is such that he could believe both are easily replaced. Once Rolf secures his freedom, he could collect a new crew. Another possibility is that Rolf doesn't believe Mozzie will be convicted."

"Or he knows Mozzie will escape at the last minute," Diana said gloomily. "He'll have to invent a new identity, but for him that's a trivial matter."

Jones swiped a hand over his chin. "Mozzie could have planned the London incident from the start. He stole the Turner painting and staged the video, all the while playing the innocent card. He conned us all. At the last minute, he could drop into some rabbit hole and disappear all the while working with Rolf."

"But we know this isn't true," Travis said, setting his jaw into a hard line. "And we'll prove it. You said Neal is spending day and night reviewing surveillance camera footage at Scima Workshop. Given the number of cameras and the size of the campus, it's a monumental task. Jones and I are using Win-Win's facial recognition program to improve the odds."

"We've been able to make a surprisingly large number of matches, correlating faces to the Scima database of employees and passport records," Jones said. "We're also using filters to narrow the list of possibilities."

"Which filters are you using?" Tricia asked.

"For occupations, we selected any related to computers or gaming," Travis said. "We also targeted anyone associated with Columbia, Harvard, MIT, or the University of Bremen where Rolf taught."

Would the approach work? They had little else to go on. Yesterday, John had mandated a search of the desk Mozzie used at Scima. Stuck in a back drawer was a TARDIS business card identical to the one left behind at the warehouse where the painting had been stolen. It was the first mistake the criminal had made. In the desire to frame Mozzie, they'd shown that they were able to access the _Doctor Who_ production offices. John had agreed to let White Collar review copies of the video feeds.

The other possibility was that the card had been a mistake, not by Azathoth but by Mozzie, and he actually was the silent partner and perhaps Azathoth himself. But Peter's gut told him Mozzie was being framed even as he tried to keep an open mind.

#

Sara watched Neal as he gazed moodily at the Thames. The day had been overcast and now a light mist hung in the twilight sky. She hoped the moisture would refresh their spirits. They were both exhausted.

Ever since Mozzie had been placed in a safe house, both of them had spent every available moment holed up in John's office, conducting an as yet fruitless review of video feeds. Since John had agreed to delay the release of the incriminatory footage of Mozzie, he was unable to bring in his team to investigate. The agents who had recovered the painting at the storage facility were told that it was part of an undercover Interpol operation but otherwise left in the dark. Sara felt for John and the difficult situation he'd been placed in.

Under normal circumstances, John relied on the Command to provide extra personnel as needed. In this instance, he'd become an unofficial member of White Collar. Travis and Jones were in charge of processing the security cam feeds in New York, while Neal and Sara were scouring copies for anyone or anything that would point to the perpetrator.

Neal had his elbows propped up on the railing and was resting his chin on his hands. Sara could take a break during the day when she needed to return to Sterling-Bosch, but there was no respite for Neal. Just a few days ago, she'd thought Neal would be consumed by researching his mystery painting. Now it had taken a backseat to the crisis unfolding around Mozzie.

The discussion of Mozzie being Azathoth's silent partner had been a bitter pill for Neal to swallow. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate White Collar standing by his friend, but rather the fact that Azathoth had targeted someone so close to Neal. The questions swirling around Klaus were especially troubling. Doubts were creeping into her mind as well. How large a role was Neal's former mentor still playing? In Hungary and afterward, he'd appeared to be genuinely remorseful for his actions toward Neal. Had that been a con?

Sara slanted a glance at Neal. Drops of rain clung to his eyelashes, reminding her of tears. She'd never seen him look so discouraged. She slipped an arm around her waist. "You'll let me know if you see any tentacles?"

He flinched as if he'd been struck. "What . . .?" His words trailed off as he brushed his hair back off his forehead.

"I'm sorry, it was a poor attempt at a joke." Sara tried not to overreact but was appalled at his reaction. "You're not seeing any, are you?"

He took a breath. "Lately it seems that wherever I look they're present. Rolf, Klaus . . . " He gave a bitter chuckle. "That wood sculpture of the octopus in the window of the art gallery on the way here, was it an omen?"

"Absolutely not, and we really should stop maligning octopuses," she declared, determined to lift his spirits. "They're one of my favorite animals."

"You sound like Diana. She even got an octopus tattoo last month. Please don't tell me you want to get one too."

"Gee and I had my heart set on it," she teased. "I warn you that this promise will cost you. We'll need to take a vacation somewhere where we can scuba dive and see them in their natural habitat. Actually I'd be content if there were seahorses. They rate even higher with me than octopuses."

"Seahorses, it is! Last summer we went scuba diving near Cape May. I haven't forgotten your expertise. That was the last chance I had to practice. And I promise not to groan if you spot any of your tentacle-waving friends."

Was there a hidden plea in those words? Sara knew Neal hadn't been sleeping well, and it wasn't all because of Mozzie. "Sunday morning you'd mentioned something about having nightmares about sea monsters. Are you still having them?"

He took a breath and nodded. "I suppose it's inevitable. Turner's painting, the Ood masks, Mozzie's dilemma."

"The Godzilla movies we watched didn't help," she said remorsefully.

He clasped her hand. "Don't blame Godzilla. It's not his fault." He exhaled. "You should know, I've been troubled by them for a while."

"For how long?" she asked, her concern ratcheting up.

He shrugged. "Off and on for several months. Henry thinks it's because I'm worried about what Rolf could do to those I care about." He looked over at her and gave a rueful smile. "I've been prone to nightmares since I was a child. Noelle believes they're a lingering effect from Vance. You sure you still want to sleep with me?"

"More than ever," she declared. "You need a partner to help keep those monsters at bay. Besides, it's understandable you've been having issues. Vance's ghost probably awakened old demons. What with your mom's passing and your dad's flight from WITSEC, you've had a lot to contend with."

"You had to cope with learning the truth about your sister," he countered.

"That was a different situation," she insisted. "I already knew in my heart she wasn't alive. You don't have any doubts about Mozzie, do you?" It was something they hadn't discussed, but maybe she'd been wrong in not raising the question. Peter's team was being forced to grapple with the possibility.

"That he's been conning me for the past three years?" Neal smiled and shook his head. "Mozzie and I have gone through too much together. Klaus, on the other hand . . ." He winced. "That's a harder question. When Tricia encouraged me to write to him, I was happy to go along, but I've kept my guard up. I want to believe he's being genuine." He winced. "I'd like to think I'm not that bad a judge of character."

"And you're not. Klaus could be a victim as much as you. Who knows? Perhaps Rolf had his mad scientist Penfold brainwash Klaus long before he tried it on you."

"You're not alone in the theory. Tricia also raised the possibility. If Penfold can ever be captured, maybe we'll get a chance to ask him." He clasped her hand. "And you'll be happy to know I have a strategy for befriending those denizens of the deep. At the risk of exposing myself to justifiable ridicule, I'll let you in on a secret."

"Is it something to do with Baby Bear?" Neal had told her about the nickname his grandmother had bestowed upon him as a baby, and the good-natured teasing he'd received about it.

He chuckled. "In a way. I've been turning sea monsters into lovable cartoon characters. Since Diana is so fixated on octopuses, I picture her as Pearl, the adorable pink octopus in the movie _Finding Nemo_." He gave her a mischievous smile. "There's a seahorse in the movie called Sheldon. Any takers?"

"Yes, please!" she said, happy to see Neal's spirits lifting. "I'd love a seahorse avatar. Let's call her Shellie."

"Shellie . . ." he eyed her appraisingly. "It suits you. The name reminds me of _filly_."

"Careful or I may start to whinny. You know how fond I am of horses. How about you? You need to be in the ocean frolicking with Diana and me."

He gave a slow sigh but there was a healthy glint in his eyes. "Last summer in California, I watched the movie _Finding Nemo_ with Peter and El. Peter told me later that he identified with Marlin the clownfish. I guess that makes me Nemo."

As Sara laughed with him over being a clownfish, she didn't bring up the circumstances. Elizabeth told her how they watched the movie shortly after Neal's rescue. She was pleased to see that Neal could joke about it. That had to be a healthy sign.

"No more talk of sea monsters," Neal said firmly. He waved his hand toward the river. "I've longed to stroll along the Thames with you. Now's our chance. We'll need to return to Scotland Yard soon. Let's enjoy the moment."

They turned and started walking along the promenade. "Perhaps next year you'll paint the Thames to add to your rivers collection," she suggested.

"I'm more interested in turning that sketch I'd made of you along the valley stream in Cornwall into a painting. The ruins of Tintagel Castle will be in the distance. You are my Fae princess."

"And you my noble knight. Together we'll slay whatever dares confront us."

He drew her close, and her lips melted into his. Neal had trusted her with his fears, and she was determined to help him overcome them.

#

"I'm sorry, Peter, but I'm unable to grant an extension." John's voice on the phone sounded genuinely regretful. "I've been able to explain our investigation to the Scima producers as a possible incident connected to Rolf Mansfeld. In light of their history with the criminal, they've bent over backward to accommodate our wishes, but my superiors are demanding I supply evidence. I've been given a deadline of eleven o'clock tomorrow morning when I'm scheduled to meet with them. If nothing else has turned up, I'll have to tell them about Mozzie and the painting."

"I sympathize with the difficulty of your situation," Peter said. The only new evidence wasn't helpful to Mozzie's case. Travis had discovered the ASCII-code signature of an octopus in the malware which had infected the Tate's security software at the off-site warehouse. The signature had previously been found in malware used to steal a map of sea monsters at Harvard and also in ransomware associated with the Pod, a group of criminal hackers.

The Pod had first surfaced early in the year. The programming style was similar to what had been used in museum security malware. They'd originally believed Rolf had written the malware but there was no conclusive proof. Now other candidates were being floated around, including Jacek Kolar and Cthulhu—Rolf's silent partner. John had insisted Mozzie remain a candidate, pointing out that he'd been the one to first alert them about the Pod. Peter could tell that John was growing increasingly concerned that Mozzie had been playing them all.

"I realize your team continues to be convinced of the man's innocence," John said. "If they're correct, Mozzie will be safer when he's held in a secure facility."

Peter didn't comment. He hadn't mentioned the concerns Neal had voiced privately to him that Mozzie would bolt rather than be entered into the system. Neal denied any knowledge of how Mozzie would manage to elude his guards, but Peter didn't doubt the shadow-lurker might somehow find a way. Before he could reply, he heard the faint sound of a knock coming through the phone.

"Neal's arrived," John explained. "I'd like him to hear this too."

Peter heard footsteps, the sound of the door opening, and then Neal's excited voice.

"Hold that thought," John ordered. "I have Peter on the line. I'll switch to speaker." The faint echo confirmed the switch. "Peter had called to discuss the possibility of an extension, and I repeated to him what I'd told you. Without new evidence, it's impossible."

"And I may have it!" Neal's voice sounded electrified. Peter hoped whatever he'd found merited the enthusiasm. The last time Peter had checked in with him, the strain of the long hours was clearly taking a toll. Neal had driven himself to exhaustion before, but he was still able to function. Hopefully, this time he wasn't delusional.

"The key was Travis's filter for faces with a connection to MIT," Neal explained. "Several faces were tagged, and one of them looked vaguely familiar. I ran a search on him and discovered I'd met him. His name is Victor Liu. He graduated from MIT last month with a B.S. in computer science."

"Where did you meet him?" John asked.

"When we were in Cambridge—that's Cambridge, Massachusetts, not England—in March. At the time, MIT was sponsoring an origami exhibition, and Victor had designed an intricate kraken."

Peter groaned to himself. Surely that wasn't the only evidence Neal had to offer.

"I know what you're thinking," Neal added as if reading Peter's mind, "but hear me out. We know the Pod was involved in the theft of the sea map. They were also familiar with MIT. We also verified that Rolf had been a guest lecturer at MIT eight years ago. What if the Pod is connected in some way to MIT?"

"What's Liu doing at Scima?" Peter asked, not ready to answer Neal's question.

"He's working as an intern this summer in the CGI department. A note had been placed in his file that he'd been selected over another candidate with more experience. One of the staff members supervising the program had registered a protest but had been informed that the decision had been made by top management. Doesn't that sound suspicious? Like perhaps a hacked email enabled Victor to get the job?"

There was silence for a moment. Peter could picture Neal's pleading eyes.

John's exhale was loud on the phone. "At the minimum, this requires further research. It shouldn't be difficult to discover if the decision was genuine."

"The Pod could be expanding into the film industry," Neal said. "Mozzie said the group resembled a cephalopod with many tentacles. At the time, he suspected Pod referred to the number of employees. But the term could also be a reference to multiple strategies. We already know of at least two—video gaming and fine art."

"Cyberattacks are a growing concern among the film industry in the States," Peter said.

"And in England as well," John acknowledged. "By referencing a possible attack on one of England's leading film studios, I should be able to buy a couple of extra days at least."

"And that frees me up to go to Scima," Neal said.

"No, it doesn't," Peter retorted, letting his voice deepen into a growl. "You're not the only one who can read minds. You want to go in undercover and make contact with the suspect."

"Exactly!" Neal said triumphantly. "I've hung around Aidan and Richard enough to be able to talk their lingo. John, those are two friends from grad school. Both worked at Scima as interns. I faked being a video-game concept artist during a sting a few months ago. If you simply swoop in and question Victor, it may be fruitless. Without more evidence, he's not going to cough up his membership in the Pod. But he may respond to me, a hungry-for-money intern."

"You can't go in as yourself," John warned. "You remember seeing him. He could as well. And if he is indeed a member of the Pod, he may already know who you work for."

"Not a problem," Neal said quickly. "I brought a disguise with me. It makes me look like a blond surfer-dude. Sara and I traveled directly to England from my cousin's wedding. I'd used the disguise at one of the parties."

Peter had heard about the party. At Angela's request, Neal and Sara had dressed as their alter-egos, Matthew and Alicia. They'd used the wigs to conceal their dates last fall. It was as if Neal knew he might need to go undercover, or maybe he always traveled with a disguise on hand. If he hadn't before, he certainly would now.

Neal was charging full steam ahead, adlibbing a fake UCLA backstory for John's benefit. It was up to Peter to slam the brakes on. "You can't go in," he ordered bluntly.

"Why not?" Neal asked, frustration dripping off the words.

"It's too dangerous. This could be a trap, just like last year when I was the target. There's no way I'll let you go in solo to face a suspected member of the Pod."

"Neal is the best candidate for the role to approach Victor," John countered. "I could arrange for a plainclothes detective to monitor his movements, but it will take a couple of days to get clearance."

"By the time John secures approval, it may be too late," Neal argued. "I know someone who's available now and is already familiar with the case."

Peter rolled his eyes, wishing Neal could see it. "Sara?"

"Who else? She can use her Alicia disguise."

Should he approve the request? Sara was a pro, and, perhaps even more helpful, she was in love with Neal. She'd quickly clamp down on any risky maneuver. Neal might also be more likely to be careful if he knew she was watching him. Sara could easily turn into Peter's accomplice in preventing reckless behavior.

**Scima Workshop Campus, Iver Heath, England.**

"I didn't realize I'd dropped my wallet, thanks!" Victor Liu said gratefully.

"Another American?" Neal gave him a wide grin. "Your accent's a welcome sound. I just started on Monday. Name's Steve, Steve Tabernacle. I'm an intern in the art department." 

Victor gave a brief glance to his blond hair and Coldplay t-shirt and stuck out his hand. "I'm Victor Liu. I'm a veteran of all of three weeks in CGI. Where are you from?"

"UCLA. Man, this gig is a dream come true!"

Neal had spotted Victor heading for lunch at a staff canteen and picked his pocket while Victor was checking out the sandwiches. Nothing like returning a lost wallet to form a friendship. Neal easily persuaded his new best friend Victor to have lunch with him. Sara, in her Alicia disguise of long curly blond hair, tight tank top, and jeans, was seated nearby.

Thanks to the Bureau's established relationship with Scima, John was able to secure quick approval for Neal and Sara's presence. Before going in, Neal was allowed to talk with Mozzie via a video conference call monitored by John.

Mozzie remembered seeing Victor near the _Doctor Who_ set. He'd also spotted Victor close to his desk on one occasion last week. John was skeptical of Mozzie's confirmation, and Neal understood his reticence. Even though Peter confirmed Mozzie's photographic memory, John could easily believe that Mozzie was simply trying to cast suspicion on someone else.

Neal's objective was to cast himself as a hardcore gamer and artist. He intended to brag about the job awaiting him at Scima Gameworks in L.A. Describing it at length was a cinch, since Travis's partner Richard had a similar job. Richard had been Neal's best friend at Columbia and was on a temporary assignment to L.A. Neal had spent the previous evening on the phone with him, grilling him about the latest videogames Scima had in the pipeline. Neal wouldn't reveal anything confidential but would display enough insider knowledge that if Victor was affiliated with the Pod, he'd lick his chops.

* * *

_Notes: Neal and Sara are enjoying a return fling as their alter-egos Matthew and Alicia, and Peter wishes he could be there with them even if it means wearing a disguise. In Chapter 4, they'll find out if their strategy succeeds, and Neal will receive news about his mystery Madonna._


	4. Great Expectations

**Scima Workshop. Wednesday, June 7, 2006.**

Sara was enjoying this stakeout _so much_ more than last time. In February, during an investigation of Alex Hunter, she'd inadvertently crashed an undercover operation Neal was running. Now they were acting in tandem. It also was a significant help that their quarry was a geeky guy. Definitely not Neal's type.

Even more reassuring was that Sara was able to monitor their conversation through an earpiece. Travis had expressed a package of some of his custom gadgets for their use. Her earpiece was linked to Neal's watch. The feed was being sent to New York rather than London since John's technical resources were limited.

At the initial meeting, Neal had finagled an invite to a local pub with Victor after work. Sara tailed the suspect during the afternoon while Neal searched for incriminating evidence. He was convinced that somewhere was hidden a disguise for the person who'd impersonated Mozzie. She agreed with his reasoning that the outfit wouldn't have been trashed in case a repeat performance was needed.

As far as the _Doctor Who_ production crew was concerned, Mozzie was suffering from a bout of intestinal flu. Victor and whoever else was involved with the scheme must be wondering why there hadn't been any news of his arrest. Sara hoped the uncertainty would lead to a breakthrough. The time remaining before Mozzie would be entered into the system was decreasing far too quickly.

Neal had been able to capture Victor's cell phone signature thanks to the sig-zapper, an electronic marvel Travis had invented last autumn. Taps had also been placed on the phone and computer at his workstation. The one glaring omission from their blanket surveillance was his flat. He rented a studio in Iver Heath, and until there was enough evidence to tie him to the crime, a search warrant was out of the question.

Neal had searched the costume warehouse during the afternoon under the assumption that hiding in plain sight was the best policy. He'd taken advantage of the contacts he'd made during the incident at Scima last year for this case but failed to turn up anything resembling the apparel worn by the Mozzie impersonator during the staged altercation.

At quitting time, Sara tailed Neal and Victor as they took a shuttle bus from the Scima campus to the town of Iver Heath. Their destination was a local pub called The Black Horse. It had a long history of being patronized by actors and production crews from Scima. Sara had switched her disguise in the car before entering the lounge. She was now a frazzled production assistant in coveralls with short curly brown hair. She'd prepared an official-looking document she could pretend to edit while monitoring Neal's table.

Over a couple of rounds of beer, Victor became progressively friendlier. No mention of origami but he revealed an expertise in online gaming that Neal was stoking with stories he'd acquired from Jones and Richard. Sara once more marveled at Neal's chameleon-like ability to shapeshift into a different personality. She could assume the appearance of someone else, but he had the gift of projecting someone else's personality.

Sara had just received her second pot of tea and the guys were wolfing down pizza. Neal was complaining about being cut off from the L.A. gaming community when Victor finally took the bait.

"You might be interested in a group I belong to," Victor remarked, his tone a little too casual to be natural. "We focus on the latest games coming on the market. Some of our members work in the gaming industry. We've become the source of insider tips." He smiled. "We call ourselves the Pod."

Neal's eyes widened as he appeared to lap up the talk. "As in space pod?"

Victor grinned. "We prefer to think of ourselves as an octopus, using our tentacles to probe the latest products."

_Gotcha_. Sara reached for her phone to text John. The Pod was already known to Interpol. Victor's comment should be enough to justify a search.

Victor Liu was taken into custody late that same evening. When the police searched his flat, they found a set of clothes along with a mask for a Mozzie impersonator hidden in the kitchen cabinet. Victor had likely played the role. The clothes had been padded to make his slim frame appear like Mozzie's.

Victor insisted he was innocent and had no idea how the disguise had appeared in his kitchenette. He claimed he'd been framed. There was no evidence to indicate the identity of his accomplices. They knew at least one other had been involved and believed Victor was assisted by other members of the Pod. Evidence provided by Victor's cell phone and computer could prove helpful.

It was past midnight by the time John gave clearance for Mozzie to be released. Neal and Sara delivered the good news in person. John had been considerate. He'd booked Mozzie into a hotel suite in Bloomsbury. The neighborhood was famous for its clique of artists and writers in the 1920s, including Virginia Woolf and E.M. Forster.

When the police detective let them in, Mozzie was working on his laptop in his bedroom. "Come back later," he grumbled.

"Don't you want to hear the news?" Neal asked, shaking his head at Sara. He'd spent the past few days worrying that Mozzie would bolt but evidently Mozzie enjoyed the seclusion.

Sara strode over and kissed Mozzie on the cheek. "This can't wait, Uncle. Write a note about whatever wonderful idea has captured your fancy and then tune us in."

Mozzie smiled without lifting his head. "I suppose the scene can wait. What is it that we're celebrating?"

He took the news with his usual aplomb as if he'd expected it all along. If anything, Mozzie was flattered to be considered Azathoth's silent partner. He even joked about writing stories under the nom-de-plume of Cthulhu. But Sara wouldn't rest easy. They'd managed to save Mozzie from exposure, but who would be targeted next?

#

Neal slept in for the first time in a week. With no scheduled appointments, there was no reason to rush. Scotland Yard would likely be busy interrogating Victor all morning. Unless something new popped up, Neal would fly back to New York on the weekend. When the alarm clock sounded for Sara, he roused himself sufficiently to have coffee with her before she left for work, but immediately afterward headed back to bed. No amount of caffeine would prevent him from making a dent in his sleep deficit.

When he strolled into John's office, it was close to noon. By now, he could read John's expressions almost as easily as he could Peter's and something was wrong. Neal's mood immediately took a turn south as well.

"Victor is exhibiting signs of a deep-seated psychosis," John said bluntly. "The initial processing went fine. He was kept overnight in a holding facility. When the agent arrived in the morning to interview him, Victor was a changed man. Reportedly it was as if his mind had been wiped clean. The suspect has no recollection of who or where he is."

"He's faking amnesia?" Neal asked skeptically.

John shrugged. "Possibly. A psychological evaluation will be required to determine the truth. But even more disturbing is Victor's irrational fear of spiders. He didn't mention anything about spiders to you, did he?"

Neal considered for a moment and came up blank. "No, but we didn't see any. How severe is the phobia?"

"He was seeing spiders everywhere he looked—on the walls, on his clothes. He thought the interrogating agent had one on her jacket. I reviewed the video, and his terror appeared genuine. He became so hysterical, he needed to be sedated."

"Was he given anything to eat or drink?"

"That someone could have doctored? No, he only had water before the symptoms manifested themselves, and we verified that the water hasn't been tampered with. I spoke with a neuropsychologist a few minutes ago. When I reviewed the case with her, she mentioned psychological manipulation as a possible cause."

Neal stared at him, speechless for a moment. The term made him immediately think of Erasmus Penfold, the psychologist who worked for Rolf. He'd tried to program Neal. Was that what happened here too, only this time it was more successful?

"Peter will be at work in about an hour, and I'd like you to be present when I talk with him," John continued. "I'm familiar with Doctor Penfold's methods. The bizarre nature of Victor's illness makes me wonder if something similar is going on. We've grown used to psychological manipulation being the tool of choice for the foe you named Azathoth. I continue to feel confident that Rolf is Azathoth, but we shouldn't dismiss the possibility that his silent partner Cthulhu is the chief manipulator."

John didn't comment further. It wasn't necessary to elaborate on the threat. They'd believed Rolf had hired Penfold. In Hungary, the psychologist worked for Anya Kaldy, the head of Ydrus. But both Rolf and Anya could have been Cthulhu's subordinates.

"I don't expect I'll be able to keep you much longer in London," John said. "I appreciate all the assistance you've provided to the case, and, on a personal note, I'm relieved your friend was able to maintain his unique status."

"As is he. I realize you had to jump through bureaucratic hoops. Mozzie and I both are very grateful. He's back on the Scima campus today."

"I'm looking forward to the episode he wrote." The corners of John's mouth twitched. "You should keep me informed of Walter Ellis's future writing endeavors."

Neal smiled, appreciating the reference to writing and the lack of comments about Mozzie's non-writing projects.

John hesitated for a moment. "Before you leave, I'd like to discuss a potential opportunity. Interpol is reviewing the increase in art crimes. The successes of the art crimes task force have not gone unnoticed. An expansion in our budget may be forthcoming. If it does, I'll need to ramp up our resources. Currently, there are restrictions to your and Peter's availability, particularly his. I'd like to get a better handle on how you would feel about spending a greater proportion of your time working for Interpol and what restrictions there may be on your availability."

A loaded question. It was the kind of proposal that should have Neal jumping with glee, but he could already predict the reaction of Art Crimes in D.C. The new boss, Laura Jemison, had warned that White Collar's involvement with art crimes cases might be coming to an end. The partnership with Interpol could be on the chopping block as well. Complicating the situation still further was Peter's low tolerance for overseas work.

"I'd welcome it," Neal said, deciding to ignore the impending landmines for the moment. "I hope you'll keep me in mind if the expansion goes through." If Interpol moved at anything near the rate of speed of the federal government, it would be months or years before anything was decided. He hoped a decision on the Raphael wouldn't be equally slow in coming.

**New York. Monday, June 12, 2006.**

On Neal's first day back at White Collar, Jones and Diana were seemingly waiting in ambush for him. As soon as he entered the bullpen, the onslaught of questions began.

"Have you heard yet about your painting? Diana demanded. "In other words, just how filthy rich are you?"

"Yeah, Caffrey," Jones added. "If you're looking to invest, I have some sweet deals I could tell you about."

Neal waved them off with a laugh. "Give me a break, guys. I'm still an overworked, underpaid consultant and grad student. The potential Raphael painting is still just a dream floating in the clouds. But"—he made a dramatic pause—"it passed a major hurdle on Saturday."

"Don't make me throttle you for details," Diana warned impatiently. "You know I'm fully capable of it."

"And I wouldn't dream of holding out on you. Provenance had been a sticking point. Without any documentation about the painting, the case would likely never be settled. My new friends, the art historians at the National Gallery, uncovered a manuscript from Dunster Castle. It's about an hour away from where I bought the painting. In the castle records from the sixteenth century, there's mention of a painting by Raffaello Sanzio da Urbino." 

"Is there a description?" Jones asked.

"Only that it's a Madonna. The castle was a royalist stronghold during the English Civil War. It was looted toward the end of hostilities. Sara had speculated that the painting could have been carried off and that appears to be the most likely hypothesis. Maybe a Roundhead soldier took a fancy to it. At that time, the Madonna disappeared from the record books till I found it in the Shepton Mallet antique shop."

At Diana's whoop of joy, he quickly added, "The Italians have been brought in to see if they can find any records about it. Without additional confirmation, the Madonna will likely remain a mystery woman."

Jones slapped him on the back. "But you got great expectations. I always knew you led a charmed life!"

#

When Peter came downstairs, he joined in the teasing. He was glad to see Neal look relaxed and happy. He wished he felt the same. The news about the suspect's psychological condition had been a blow to the entire team. Rolf was more of an enigma than ever, and whether it was he or the mysterious Cthulhu controlling the strings, the threat they posed was just as strong.

Looking at the team's joking expressions, Peter realized how all the members had become his extended family. Jones was a special concern since he lived alone. More than ever, team members needed to be surrounded by people to help check on them. In that department, Neal was richly endowed. June and her staff provided a buffer, and Henry would also be vigilant. El had promised to take extra precautions, but she, along with all other family members, could be targeted. Perhaps it was for the best that Baby Burke had yet to appear.

At the morning briefing, everyone had their game face on.

"What happened with the Turner painting was a warning to all of us," Peter reminded them. "I'm not about to condone Mozzie's method of operating, but Cthulhu very nearly ruined his value to the team, not to mention the life he'd worked so hard to build. It was a clear warning to all of us. You should discuss the situation with your families. If you feel extra protective measures are needed, let me know."

"You're calling our enemy Cthulhu now?" Travis asked, raising an eyebrow.

Peter nodded. "We all should. Rolf has been in isolation for weeks. Whatever role he has in current activities must have been planned long ago. Cthulhu is either acting out his instructions or is controlling the agenda on their own."

Diana nodded gloomily. "Cthulhu rules."

"And along with it the Pod," Neal said. "First video games, then an ancient map, now a film studio. And those are only the cases we've been involved with. Have any other incidents popped up recently which could be related?"

"Glad you asked," Jones said. "When the Scima connection first surfaced, we consulted with the cybercrime task force. There's been an uptick in ransomware attacks on film studios. So far only a couple have been hit and they were smaller independent outfits. It's as if the criminals are testing their methods before attempting a big score."

Diana crossed her arms on the table and leaned forward. "What we need is a new sting, something that takes down Cthulhu and Azathoth too."

"You have something in mind?" Peter asked.

"That video game we invented was a successful lure," she said. "It may be time for us to get into the movie business."

"And I know just the candidate," Travis promptly replied.

Neal exchanged knowing smiles with the tech expert. "You're thinking of Mozzie's project." He turned to the others. "Mozzie's been in negotiations with the Japanese producers of the yellow-faced bee anime series about a possible movie."

"We could build on it," Travis suggested. "Richard, Keiko, and Neal had sketched ideas for a Godzilla movie where Yellowface the Masked Avenger would team up with Mothra to save Tokyo from Godzilla. Hasn't its time come?"

Jones snorted. "Has Mozzie heard of this? It would be his dream script."

"Sorry to be a wet blanket, but this won't wash," Peter declared. "It's far too obvious. Cthulhu will know it's a trap."

"Maybe, but that won't necessarily stop them from making a move," Diana declared. "Our goal is to bring them out in the open. They threw down the gauntlet with the Turner painting. Shouldn't we toss it back in their faces?"

Jones frowned. "The obstacles to the op are substantial. White Collar has no ties with the Japanese outfit. Convincing them to go along could be a non-starter."

"They may not have to agree to much," Neal pointed out. "We could make it a massive snow job. Mozzie could blanket the internet with rumors and speculation. For this, he'll work at no charge." He paused to scan the group. "Mozzie asked me to convey his gratitude for all you did to clear him. He'll work his heart out to ensure the con succeeds."

"Good," Diana said, "because I need his scriptwriting expertise. If we want to provoke chatter, we should use all the tools in our belt, and that includes Arkham Files. Tricia is eager to heighten dissent between Cthulhu and Rolf."

Peter let the others discuss options, but he wanted to bounce the ideas off Tricia before commenting further. A greater concern for him was Victor Liu's current mental state. John had already contacted the Bureau's Boston branch. They were interviewing Victor's friends, family, and associates. Victor's major in computer science was related to the type of experimentation Penfold performed. Was Penfold connected to MIT? Victor's expertise in origami was another piece of the puzzle. It might not be relevant or it could be that was what first brought him to Cthulhu's attention. It also could be indicative that Cthulhu was associated with the university. As an academic, Rolf might have searched for similar attributes in a partner.

#

Neal's first chance to speak privately with Peter didn't come till the afternoon. By then, they'd gotten a further update on Victor. The psychiatrists were convinced he wasn't faking his amnesia, and, if anything, his arachnophobia had grown worse.

"I've asked Jacob to consult on the case," Peter said as Neal took a seat opposite his desk in Peter's office.

"I'm glad to hear it." Jacob Nussbaum was the neuropsychologist who'd treated Neal last summer. He was an expert on the virtual-reality technique that Penfold had used on him and others in Hungary. "Do the Brits think Victor was subjected to VR manipulation?"

"They view it as a real possibility but don't have any supportive evidence. Agents from the Boston Bureau have begun interviewing Victor's associates at MIT. None of them had noticed anything unusual. One remembered Victor mentioning he found spiders creepy, but so do a lot of people, and Victor wasn't psychotic about it at the time."

"His case isn't similar to mine," Neal pointed out, deciding to address the issue he knew Peter was stewing about head-on. "Penfold tried to modify my behavior, not erase my memory. For me, amnesia was never an issue."

"But that only indicates he may employ different techniques. The connections between the Pod and Rolf are too strong for us to dismiss the likelihood of Penfold's involvement."

Despite his hopes of avoiding the issue, Neal had to agree with Peter's conclusion. The prospect that Penfold had set up another laboratory to continue his manipulation experiments was a terrifying one.

"My advice in the briefing is essential more than ever," Peter continued. "If we keep in touch with family and friends, Cthulhu will have greater difficulty in attacking us." He relaxed into a smile. "That vacation at Scotts Bluff is exactly the sort of activity we should be engaged in. Is it still on?"

"More than ever," Neal said, welcoming the change of subject. He and Sara had invited Peter and El to spend a week with them at a guest ranch. It would be a week of horseback riding, fossil-collecting, and stargazing. None of the activities were high priority items for him, but they were for Peter, and the trip had been designed to take place over Father's Day.

"Good." Peter nodded with satisfaction. "I won't even joke about you picking up the entire tab."

Neal broke into a laugh. "Hey, if there's confirmation on the painting, it will be my pleasure!"

"You'd intended to spend the summer reviewing your career options. The painting could significantly increase the possibilities," Peter added, his expression growing serious.

Neal nodded. "You'll likely do the same. John mentioned he planned to contact you about opportunities at Interpol."

"We discussed it on Friday," Peter confirmed.

"Care to share your thoughts?"

Peter took a slow breath. "It's premature since nothing may materialize, but I did discuss the situation with El. If I wish to advance at the Bureau, I should cut back on the number of Interpol consults, not increase them. You'll have similar decisions to make, but there's no rush. Right now they're simply hypothetical scenarios."

When Neal left Peter's office, he headed to a vacant interrogation room to call Henry. Psychological manipulation was back squarely on the table. Hearing about Victor's case made Neal appreciate what a narrow escape he'd had in California.

"Don't let it mess with your head," Henry advised. "You start having nightmares about it, you'll give me a call?"

"I will," Neal promised although he doubted he'd have any. He'd recovered from Penfold's programming long ago. "I don't suppose you have any updates about my father?"

"Not yet but I am making progress. I was able to obtain a list of staff at the police precinct where James worked. I'm also looking into the personnel at the D.A.'s office. The dirty cops James was worried about might have been in league with City Hall. That could be why they escaped being caught."

A promising theory. Neal wished he could help. But he'd made a pact with Henry that he wouldn't investigate on his own. Peter and the team had gone the extra mile to protect Mozzie. He wouldn't betray their trust.

#

_"Behind you!" Henry reached for his sword as a massive tentacle whipped out of the vortex._

_Neal spun around, keeping a firm hold on the amethyst crystal. The tentacle lashed itself around his waist dragging him into the abyss._

Diana didn't look up at the sound of the knock. Her fingers flew over the keyboard, the characters' words coming faster than she could write them down.

Tricia stepped into the room. "I'm sorry to disturb you, but this is important. I don't want you to waste your creativity on a scene that won't be used."

Diana's shoulders sagged. "Another rewrite?"

Tricia nodded, her mouth drooping in sympathy. She took a seat opposite Diana in the small interrogation room which she liked to appropriate as a writer's cave. "I just spoke with Peter and obtained his approval."

"The basic strategy hasn't changed, has it?" Diana asked, hoping to salvage some of the day's output. "I'm supposed to provoke a reaction by alluding to the incidents we earmarked?"

"That's still in place. The parameters of the new villain have changed though." Tricia smiled. "You're going to like them."

Was that simply wishful thinking? Diana took a breath as she began kneading Peachy, her starfish beanbag. Let Tricia think it was an ergonomic exercise. Already she could feel her tension start to decrease.

"I'd like you to make the villain a woman. You've already referenced Yidhra. Let's combine her with the ideas Henry came up with."

Diana lay Peachy aside, the request already sparking ideas. "The few times Lovecraft included women, they tended to be negative stereotypes. You've mentioned before that you thought Rolf had a problem with women."

Tricia nodded. "At the very least, he's an egotist. His profile makes him an ideal candidate to be a misogynist as well. Perhaps he finds them useful on occasion, but I doubt he would ever concede a woman could be superior to him. I may be wrong, but there's no harm in making Cthulhu a woman."

"And if you're right, Rolf could become so furious that he'd lash out at his partner. I was just writing a scene where a tentacle seized Neal. Rolf could feel similarly squeezed."

Tricia smiled. "It's worth the gamble." She placed her laptop on the table. "Let's get to work."

**Three Days Later.**

"I'd like to use Fiona." Neal paused when he saw Peter's face in the glass window of the door and beckoned for him to come in. He'd appropriated an unused interrogation room for his call to Sara, and Peter was next on his list.

"Give Peter my regards," she said. "Tell him I can't wait for our joint vacation!"

"I could have talked with you later," Peter said when Neal ended the call. "You didn't need to cut short your time with Sara. It's still the lunch hour."

"We were finishing up," Neal said, keeping a calm expression. This would be a test of just how good a con artist he was. "What did you want to see me about?"

"Jacob contacted me. He's finished his review of Victor's case and has found some striking similarities to manipulation victims documented by the CIA. Since Columbia isn't in session, he's decided to travel to London. The evidence linking Victor to the actual theft of the painting is so slim that John believes the government won't prosecute him, at least for the moment. Instead, he'll be held in a psychiatric facility. Jacob may bring him back to the States for treatment."

"That's a reasonable solution. For all we know, Victor is as much a victim as I was."

Peter studied him for a moment. "I'm glad you're handling this so well. It must bring back unpleasant memories."

Neal shrugged casually. "It's hard to focus on them at the moment. Deciding what to do with the millions of dollars likely coming my way is taking precedence."

Peter's eyes widened. "You heard!"

The time for coolness was over. Neal's grin made his jaw ache. "The Italians were my savior. Historians located a document in their files on Raphael. It was a bill of sale for a Madonna to Sir Andrew Luttrell in 1515. The Luttrell family owned Dunster Castle. This is what is known as provenance! With the collaboration provided by the chemical analysis, the National Gallery is convinced the attribution will be accepted."

Peter just stared at him dumbfounded for a moment. "You'll be a millionaire?"

Neal nodded. "Most likely. I intend to sell it at auction. That's what Sara and I were discussing on the phone. I'd like Fiona to manage it for Weatherby's. It should bring in around twenty million dollars, maybe more."

"Wow," Peter said softly.

"Yeah, that will take getting used to. As far as the eventual publicity surrounding the sale, I'll remain anonymous—I wouldn't want to wreck my cover." Neal shrugged happily. "And I don't need all the interviews which would normally accrue."

"Will you make any stipulations on the sale?"

"Only that I'd like it to be visible to the public. I'd also prefer for it to remain in England. It seems fitting."

"Will Mozzie be your agent?"

Neal grinned. "How did you guess?"

"Do I want to know his alias?"

"I don't think so."

"Those career opportunities just expanded exponentially," Peter pointed out, giving him a knowing look.

Neal had been doing his best not to dwell on what life would look like if the painting was authenticated. Now the moment had come. But nothing needed to be decided right away. Life had the habit of pointing him in the right direction. A last-minute request to go to Saint Louis had changed his life. Events this summer could make the decision for him once more.

* * *

_Notes: The auction is months away, but the first effects from the painting will soon be noticeable. For now, though, Neal's living in the moment. He'll have a few weeks at work then it will be time to head for the Badlands of Nebraska. What happens there is described in Dawn of the Jackalopes, a story in the Crossed Lines series.  
_

_Thanks for reading!_


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